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Last night – on Walpurgisnacht, of all nights – an article from last month began making the rounds suggesting that “AI” had been used to generate preproduction art for the upcoming Hellboy movie. This took Hellboy creator Mike Mignola by surprise and by this morning the Mignolas had spoken with the studio and the film’s director, Brian Taylor, had already taken to the website formerly known as Twitter to clarify that there is “exactly *ZERO* AI used” in the film.

Which is a relief for Hellboy fans and a cautionary tale for all of us not to get too het up about news too quickly. BUT it doesn’t really address the larger problem which is that the guy (Jonathan Yunger, President of Millenium Films) still probably did say the thing about using “AI” to create preproduction art, he was just referring to a different movie.

I have been taken to task in the past for my unflinching stance against what is commonly called “AI art.” I have heard all of the usual claims that it is “harmless,” that it is “inevitable,” and so on. And many of the arguments that I have heard were made by other creatives, in good faith, simply coming from places of misunderstanding.

So, let me be clear: My stance is that so-called “AI” has no place in any creative endeavor and “AI” art, writing, music, etc. cannot ever be ethically used in a commercial venture in its current form. The reasons for this range from the ethical to the personal, but the ethical reasons alone are more than enough.

For starters, though, we need to understand what we’re talking about. The people pushing this technology scored a major PR coup when they were able to get everyone to adopt “AI” as the preferred terminology, which has muddied the waters of what the actual threats are here, and what is at stake.

So-called “AI art” (or writing, or music, etc.) has no actual “intelligence” in it. It is more accurately called “procedurally generated,” which is what I’ll mostly be calling it for the rest of this post. Such procedurally generated images or text or songs are made using what essentially amounts to the same algorithm that recommends you movies on Netflix or decides what posts and ads you’ll see on Facebook, just operating at a much larger scale.

It does not know things, and it cannot find them out. It takes datasets and compares them to the sorts of datasets that are usually near them across a staggeringly large number of examples, and then it churns out a new dataset using that information. Nothing more. There are no robot overlords coming from this to wipe us out, Terminator-style. There are simply the same overlords we’ve always had – greedy corporations wanting to take more from us and give us less.

Nor is the problem with these procedurally generated products the same problem as with automation in general. Automation (self-checkout stations replacing human checkers at the grocery store, say) has its own concerns, but they are different than the concerns attendant to “AI art.” We are a long way from automation being something that artists need to worry about just yet and, before we get there, we still have these other problems to address.

The major ethical concerns relating to procedurally generated art, writing, music, what-have-you as I understand them are threefold:

1. “AI art” is theft. Pure and simple. Whether we’re talking about Midjourney or ChapGPT or whatever, these “large learning models” as they are sometimes called have to be “trained” on existing art (or writing, or whatever). And that “training” is actually just copying. It is reproducing – in whole or in part – an image or some text or a piece of music without paying for the rights to do so. And that’s the thing. When an artist creates a piece of art, they own that piece of art (unless they are doing it work-for-hire under contract, in which case the person who hired them owns it). It can thereafter only be used commercially if the artist sells the rights for that use, but they continue to own the drawing (or whatever) itself. When these “large learning models” are “trained” on a piece of existing artwork, they are copying that artwork and re-using it in a way that they have not acquired the rights for. And this is a commercial breach, even if you’re just using MidJourney or whatever to make silly pictures to share on Facebook, because these “large learning models” are, themselves, money making ventures, even without the resulting product being used in an additional commercial capacity. Therefore, “AI art” is labor theft, pure and simple, and can never be ethically used unless a “large learning model” was developed that was “trained” solely on art that was properly licensed for that purpose.

2. “AI art” is environmentally catastrophic. While the actual use of something like ChatGPT to generate a page of text takes relatively little energy, like the various blockchain scams that came before it (indeed, the playbook of “AI art” matches the hype around NFTs nearly exactly), “training” these “large learning models” consumes absolutely mind-boggling quantities of water and electricity. And while there are lots of things that consume large sums of water and electricity, one must ask if the end result is worth the cost and, in this case, it absolutely is not.

3. “AI art” is a tool of labor exploitation. I said earlier that artists, writers, etc. were a long way from needing to worry about being automated out of existence. And that’s true. But they’re already being exploited, and these “large learning models” are already making it worse. “I was able to make 3000 creature designs in an hour,” Yunger said in that article linked above. Artists, designers, writers, etc. are already underpaid and overworked and if procedurally generated assets are able to be used, they will be (and already are) expected to work faster and for less, with the output of a “large learning model” used as justification.

Those are the primary ethical concerns surrounding procedurally generated art, writing, etc. But there’s still a personal reason why I will never truck with “AI art” or what-have-you, one that would not change even if all of those ethical considerations went away.

Sadly, seemingly lost to the internet ether is a pithy reply on social media which sums it up nicely. “Why would I bother to read something that nobody could be bothered to write,” it says, in essence. And that’s what it ultimately boils down to.

Art – whether it be writing, music, film, or visual arts of other kinds – is not a commodity. It should not be something we merely consume or use. We come to it for meaning, for inspiration, for connection, for transcendance, even just for entertainment, and all of those things require that it be a two-way street running between people; between writer and reader, musician and listener, artist and viewer.

Our lives are fleeting and our time here precious. We already have to waste too much of it for various reasons. I have no desire to waste any of it “consuming” art that nobody wanted to actually create.

(From “Hellboy: The Crooked Man,” art by Richard Corben.)

Writing can be a difficult, lonely, and discouraging path, and I’ve rarely felt any of that more keenly than I did this year. The fragmentation of social media and a long stretch of not going to conventions has left me feeling more cut off from my writerly peers than at perhaps any other time since I started publishing, and there are plenty of other things in the world to feel depressed about, both directly related to writing and otherwise.

I don’t know if it’s the aforementioned isolation from social media or an accurate reflection of the state of the industry, but it feels like there have been fewer good publishing opportunities, and I’ve watched a lot of presses and publications struggle or shut their doors entirely over the past year.

My fourth short story collection, How to See Ghosts & Other Figments, came out just over a year ago and seems to have made not so much as a ripple. This is not a call for pity, just a reality of the job. Some books do well, some don’t. Some catch on right away, others take time to find their audience. There are a lot of reasons why How to See Ghosts may not be performing as well as my previous collections – and it may be that it just seems to not be from where I am sitting, and time will prove otherwise.

Though I ultimately sold a few other stories that have yet to see the light of day, I only actually published two new ones in 2023. “The God of the Overpass” in the June issue of The Dark magazine, and “The Doom That Came to Wyrock” in Mystery, Murder, Madness, Mythos from PS Publishing.

As has generally been the case lately, a lot more of my time and energy went into nonfiction and freelance projects. As I have done for every expansion since the launch of Iron Kingdoms: Requiem, I worked on the latest stuff for that game from Privateer Press, and also wrote four regular columns and extensive nonfiction pieces on everything from Halloween haunted houses to Marvel’s Man-Thing to the problem with the Warrens.

Besides all of that, I also continued to host monthly screenings at the Stray Cat Film Center with Tyler Unsell as part of the Horror Pod Class, where we show free horror movies and then discuss how they might be used in a classroom – or just vaguely talk about them, perhaps more accurately. And this was my first full year as movies editor at Exploits (I started in May of 2022), where I was able to acquire some great essays covering films like Mad Love, Hercules in the Haunted World, Freaks, and Dark Night of the Scarecrow, to name just a few.

Probably the biggest news is that I have a new book coming next year, though I don’t have a release date for it pinned down just yet and can’t give out any details. It’s not another short story collection, and it’s not a novel. What is it? You’ll just have to wait to find out, unfortunately, but I hope you’ll all enjoy it.

None of which is to suggest that there has not been some very good stuff that has happened to me, writing-wise, this year. For starters, I continued to freelance full time, and anyone who has ever tried such a feat knows that every year you manage to keep doing that is a victory.

The two biggest events in my year, where my work was concerned, were probably things that only tangentially tied into my own writing. One was seeing a monster that I had designed turned into a tabletop miniature for the first time, as part of the new Warmachine Mk 4 from Privateer Press. The other was the surprise of seeing my own name in the front matter of Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s latest book, Silver Nitrate, which she very kindly dedicated to me – one of the most touching gestures I have ever been on the receiving end of. I also did some work putting together a “film festival” for the official Silver Nitrate book club kit.

And, of course, lots of things happen in a year besides just work. This was also our first full year in the new house, which has been a year filled of joys as well as frustrations. It has required a lot of changes to my lifestyle, as the house simply demands more work than the places I have lived before, but it has been much more pleasure than pain, with beautiful flowers in the springtime, and fallen leaves in autumn. Most importantly, this place just feels like home in a way that no place else ever really has.

As has been my habit for some time now, I kept a tally of the books I read and movies I watched in 2023. I also made it a point to try to read more novels and nonfiction books than I had been getting through in recent years, setting myself a goal of at least one per month. I’m happy to say that I managed it, and read around 65 books this year of various kinds.

Going into 2024, I’m hoping to keep up a similar reading pace, but I’m setting myself a new goal: One short story per week, regardless of what else I’m reading. The parameters are simple enough. I have to read a short prose story each week, and I can’t bank them. Meaning that if I read eight short stories in one week, I still have to read one the following week. We’ll see how this affects my overall book totals by the end of next year, but I think it will be good for me and, hopefully, good for my writing overall.

A surprising number of the books I read in 2023 actually also came out this year, and among those were several favorites, including the aforementioned Silver Nitrate, Jonathan Raab’s Project Vampire Killer, Trevor Henderson’s mid-grade debut Scarewaves, and Deephaven by Ethan M. Aldridge. As in previous years, many of the books I read were graphic novels and collected manga, with high points including the long-awaited English-language release of Junji Ito’s Mimi’s Tales of Terror and a deluxe edition of Kazuo Umezo’s Cat-Eyed Boy.

Probably my favorite book of 2023, though, is one that was originally published in 1943. City of Unspeakable Fear is the latest in an ongoing collaboration between Wakefield Press and Scott Nicolay to translate the many weird tales of Jean Ray into English, often for the first time. As has been the case with virtually every prior volume in the series, it is a gift to those of us who love a classic weird tale, and as Ray’s “other” novel besides Malpertuis, it is particularly welcome.

As for movies, at the time of this writing the year is not quite over, but so far I have watched 301 movies total in 2023, 219 of them for the first time. This keeps me well within my goal of having half or more of the movies I watch in a year be first-time watches, and puts me (unsurprisingly, given other factors) at slightly fewer movies than I watched in 2022.

Of those movies, some 32 were released this year. That’s a small proportion of my overall total, but a decently high number for me in recent years. Of those, my favorite was The Primevals, a flick that, unfortunately, most people have not gotten a chance to see. Other high points include Dark Harvest, A Haunting in Venice, A Corpse for Christmas, Megalomaniac, and Talk to Me.

When it comes to new-to-me movies that were released in years past, this year had no standout so obvious as some previous years, though I saw plenty of solid films. Though there was no equivalent of 2022’s instant favorite The Ghost of Sierra de Cobre (1964), the top of the heap was probably the old 1958 BBC production of Quatermass and the Pit, with The Sea Hawk (1940), Monster of the Opera (1960), The Milpitas Monster (1976), Warlords of Atlantis (1978), and The Dunwich Horror & Others (2007) all hanging around for honorable mentions.

As I did last year, I’m working on a Letterboxd list of my 23 (this time) favorite new discoveries of 2023, though the final list is still a work in progress at the moment.

In all, I was feeling a bit down when I started this post, and I’m feeling better as I come to the end of it. Hopefully that says something about the kind of year it’s been, and bodes well for the year that is on its way.

Tomorrow is the first day of October. To the surprise of absolutely no one, October is an important – and busy – time of year for me. And, as always, I have a lot going on this October, from hosting movies to attending movies to a variety of other activities.

And that’s not even mentioning all the new stuff that’s coming out to watch, read, see, and do this month that I’m excited about. I’m going to be busy, is what I’m saying. And one of the biggest things I’m doing is covering haunted houses for The Pitch. I’ve already posted a sort of round-up to get you started, and I’ll be keeping a “haunt diary” there all month long if you want to follow my byline.

If you’re local, then odds are you’ll see me around Stray Cat or the Screenland Armour sometime this month. Besides a bunch of other movies, I’ll be at Nerdoween for the ninth year running on October 7, catching an Analog Sunday double feature on October 15, and of course the Horror Pod Class will be going all out this month as we host the WNUF Halloween Special on October 25 – and that one is, as always, completely free!

Most years, I also participate in the Countdown to Halloween, and try to watch at least one horror movie per day for the entire month of October. This year, in part due to the previously mentioned busy schedule, I’ll not be doing either of those things, though I still plan to keep the season in a number of ways. For one of those, I’ll be reading a bunch of suitably spooky books for teenage and young adult (and mid-grade) readers, and you can follow along with that on my Instagram. We’ll see how many “a bunch” ultimately turns out to be.

Aside from that, this is my first Halloween in my new house, and while I haven’t been able to go quite as “all out” on the decorations as I had hoped, I do feel like it’s coming along. There’ll be more photos of that on my Instagram as the month progresses, too.

Finally, the spooky season is a time when a lot of people read spooky books – and sometimes give them as gifts to friends and family. If you’re thinking of doing any of the above, I have written a few spooky books, as you may already know, and my latest one is How to See Ghosts & Other Figments, which even features a couple of Halloween stories that saw print there for the first time.

If you read How to See Ghosts – or any of my other books – this is also a great opportunity to leave a review someplace. And if you’re new to my work and have found your way here for some other reason, I’ve got a few Halloween stories that are free to read online in various places.

Goblins” was originally published as a new piece in the deluxe edition of my first collection, Never Bet the Devil & Other Warnings, from Strix Publishing. It was later read in audio form at PseudoPod for the holiday. Similarly, “Screen Haunt” made its first appearance in It Came from the Multiplex from Hex Publishing, and was performed on PseudoPod for Halloween. Finally, “The All-Night Horror Show” is available to read online at The Dark, where it first appeared, though attendees of the Outer Dark Symposium on the Greater Weird may remember me reading an early draft of it there a few years ago.

I am an old hand when it comes to Halloween haunts. I have been going to them for as long as I can rememember, and they have always been comfort food to me. When I was a kid, I would spend all day at the Joyland amusement park in Wichita, riding the Wacky Shack dark ride over and over and over again.

I love haunts, and I’ve traveled far to attend them, which makes it ironic that I had never been to the Halloween Haunt event at Worlds of Fun, despite having lived here in Kansas City for going on twenty years. In fact, I’m not positive that I had ever been to Worlds of Fun, full stop, before I made it out for the media night preview of the Halloween Haunt last week.

Though I was dimly aware of the Halloween Haunt, I think I had always written it off, imagining it to be something like a spooky Renaissance faire, where costumed scare actors wandered the park and spooky music was piped in over the PA system or something. I didn’t expect actual haunts nestled in among the rides. I certainly didn’t expect seven of them.

I went to Worlds of Fun as a representative of The Pitch, prepping for a month of haunt coverage to coincide with the Halloween season. As a member of the press, I was absolutely feted by the folks at Worlds of Fun, who treated me to their new Zombie Boo-ffet offering, which was a massive, all-you-can-eat banquet prepared by a very enthusiastic resident chef. Honestly, my greatest regret of the evening is that I didn’t arrive hungrier.

From there, my friend Tyler Unsell and I were allowed to explore the park and its various haunts at our leisure. As is always the case, I am told, the evening began with the Overlord’s Awakening, a parade of ghastly ghouls that kicked off the park’s transformation into haunted wonderland.

As I said, I wasn’t really expecting haunts qua haunts at all. And so I was pleasantly surprised to find that the haunts at Worlds of Fun are a match for just about any that I have ever attended. In rigor, each one is a notch or two below something like the Beast or Edge of Hell, Kansas City’s famous landmark haunts, each of which are multiple stories. But there are, as I mentioned, seven of them.

Themes include a zombie high school, a vampire-infested manor and crypt, a slaughterhouse, a house on the bayou, the streets of Whitechapel haunted by the crimes of Jack the Ripper, a creepy corn maze, and a village that has been overcome by a pumpkin curse. Each one has high points, and each one probably takes about 20 minutes to explore.

They are also surprisingly gory. The other thing I had assumed about the Worlds of Fun event was that it would probably be bowdlerized. “Family friendly.” But these haunts were every bit as grisly as any I have attended, with the slaughterhouse, in particular, giving the most gruesome a run for its money.

This is less a sales pitch for the Halloween Haunt at Worlds of Fun – already an extremely popular Halloween staple here in Kansas City – than it is an opportunity for me to admit when I’m wrong. I had always overlooked this particular venture, in spite of my fondness for haunted attractions, and when I finally went, I had a blast.

It’s always nice when things work out that way…

When I was a kid, I had a VHS copy of Planet of Dinosaurs that I bought from a flea market. According to Wikipedia, “The film’s director, James K. Shea, instructed most of the budget to be spent on the special effects for the film, which included an array of award-winning stop motion dinosaurs, leaving little money for props or even to pay the main actors.” Certainly, the stop-motion dinosaurs are what I watched it for.

Years later, while watching It Follows, I was struck by the footage of some old sci-fi movie that the characters were watching in the film. Eventually, with the help of Nick Gucker, I was able to identify it as the 1962 Russian film Planeta Bur or, more likely, one of the two Roger Corman-released recuts of it, Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet from 1965 or Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women from 1968.

Neither (none?) of those movies is particularly good but, like Planet of Dinosaurs, the original Planeta Bur (and therefore also the other films made using its footage) has some really striking special effects that deserve to be seen.

What do these movies have in common? They all belong to one of the smallest subgenres that is still robust enough to justify the name: films about astronauts who crash land on planets that are populated by dinosaurs.

As movies editor at Exploits, my job, primarily, is to source a 350-word essay each month about some movie. During my tenure there, we’ve covered everything from Mad Love to Mermaid in a Manhole and many more besides.

When David Busboom pitched me an essay about the subgenre of spacemen vs. dinosaurs, I wanted badly to take it. There were just a couple of problems. One, we generally reserve Exploits essays for covering a single movie, rather than a subgenre. Two, and more importantly, there was no way he could bring it in under 350 words.

Normally, I don’t have anything to do with the editorial side of things over at Unwinnable but, since Unwinnable and Exploits are sibling publications, I figured it would be a good idea to reach out to them and ask if they would be interested in taking David’s essay on. Luckily for me (and for you, I think), they were.

Stu Horvath, publisher at both mags, asked if I had any suggestions for a cover artist. Besides a few vintage comic book covers with old-timey spacemen pointing rayguns at dinosaurs, I blueskyed one of my favorite artists, Alan Cortes. Even more luckily for me (and for you, I think), he was game for the assignment, and turned in a cover frankly even more perfect than I had imagined.

All of this is a (very) long way of saying that I had nothing to do with writing the essay in the latest issue of Unwinnable, nor with drawing the cover. But I am proud of my small contributions toward bringing all these very talented people together under one proverbial roof, and extremely excited to share the results with all of you!

And, of course, this issue of Unwinnable is, as always, packed to the gills with great writing on a variety of subjects pop cultural and otherwise, and is well worth your time even if you are (somehow) not a fan of astronauts fighting dinosaurs.

I haven’t posted about this before now for a few reasons. For one thing, I’m a working writer, and I’m busy and, frankly, this should all go without saying. Furthermore, I don’t want to talk or think about it because it annoys the fuck out of me but, unfortunately, I have the think about it, and it’s irresponsible not to talk about it. So, I’ll try to keep this brief:

I support the WGA strike. That’s the first part that should go without saying. Writers are workers, and workers deserve to be compensated extravagantly for the work they produce, let alone fairly. The fact that we have arguments about how much someone is entitled to when they literally produced all the work is fucking absurd. The strike should go on as long as possible, it should be joined by everyone affected, and the studios should fuck off into the sun. If there are no new movies or TV shows made for the next five years, that’s great, we already have plenty, and if the result nets a life that is even one iota better for the people who are actually making these things, then it will have been more than worth it.

But that’s only part of it. Partly due to timing, the discussions around the WGA strike have also become discussions around AI art and writing. And I need to be as clear as possible on this subject: So-called “AI art” (or writing, or any other creative endeavor) is bullshit. It is a misnomer, where the only accurate part is “artificial.” It has no intelligence, and even less art. What’s more, it is anathema not merely to art and writing itself, but to everything that makes life even moderately bearable. I don’t have much in the way of religion, but if I did, this “AI art” garbage would be one of its few blasphemies.

What’s more, while calling it “art” is crap, calling it “AI” is, too. I’m not an expert in software or “machine learning” or any of that, but I know this: There is no sapience here. There are no cool machine overlords coming down the road. There is nothing here but exploitation. These machine learning algorithms can do only and precisely what they are told, and when it comes to creative pursuits such as art or writing, they can do it only through one methodology: stealing. They are not AI, and they are not “creating” anything. They are advanced plagiarism engines, and that is all that they can produce.

By the same token, these algorithms are neither threat nor salvation. They are, as their proponents so often like to point out, only tools. But they are not being wielded by those proponents, not truly. Rather than evil robotic overlords, they are being deployed by the same evil overlords we have always had: corporate greed. Their one and only goal is to steal from writers and artists without paying them in either money or dignity. These engines run on exploitation, and produce nothing – literally nothing – but more exploitation.

Damn them, curse them, scorn them, and let them fuck off into the sun with the studios and corporations I mentioned earlier, who are the only people they will ever “benefit.” We will all be far better off without them.

For nearly three years now, I have been working on and off for Privateer Press as a freelancer, writing large swaths (roughly 50,000 words each) of their Iron Kingdoms: Requiem RPG. It isn’t the first time I’ve worked with the folks over there, either. Those who have been around for a while remember that I worked in a more limited capacity on the previous Iron Kingdoms RPG, and also wrote some considerable amount of fiction for the brand, including my first (and thus far only) novel.

Working on Iron Kingdoms: Requiem has been something special, though. More than any other time, I have been able to help shape the fate of a setting that has been an important favorite of mine for more than 20 years. I’m proud of the work that we’ve all done to help update the Iron Kingdoms and bring them back to tabletops in a whole new form, so I’m happy to announce that the fourth series of books in this run is now up on Kickstarter.

Into the Deep Wild goes right where that title suggests, delving into the wilderness of the Iron Kingdoms in ways both familiar and entirely new. Perhaps most exciting for me, personally, it also brings to the tabletop (for only the second time, in RPG form) my favorite faction from the wargame: the gatorfolk.

As I mentioned, I’ve been playing Warmachine and Hordes since the very beginnings of both games, and I’ve tried my hand at a handful of factions in that time, but ever since they were first released, the gatorfolk of the Blindwater Congregation have been my go-tos. Delightful cartoon alligator people that are like if the voodoo alligators from a Disney movie got a (slightly) more serious makeover, they have delighted me from the moment they arrived on the scene, and I’m very happy to have played a role in this book.

As has been the case with the last couple of launches, I did quite a lot this time around. I wrote most of the setting gazetteer, as I have done throughout Iron Kingdoms: Requiem, and I also created some new subclasses, designed new feats, and did plenty of other fun stuff. There are a lot of cool new toys in these books, including an entire new bestiary which, if you know me, you know I love few things more than a good bestiary.

Perhaps most importantly, I have loved working in this sandbox again, and if these books continue to sell, I should continue to get more chances to flesh out this incredible world. And given that Into the Deep Wild has nearly doubled its funding goal in a matter of hours, that’s looking pretty hopeful. If you’d like to see what we’ve been up to, this Kickstarter is a great place to dig in to a world filled with monsters and robots and, yes, my beloved gators.

As of this writing, I am the author of some seven full-length books with my name on the spine. I have contributed to plenty of others, edited one more, and published a handful of chapbooks and zines. But these seven books are all me, from start to finish, minus the occasional introduction by an esteemed colleague.

Four of them are short story collections, because short stories are my primary raison d’etre. Never Bet the Devil & Other Warnings, my first collection and first full-length book, has actually been published twice. First back in 2012, in softcover, and then reprinted in a (gorgeous, frankly) deluxe hardcover in 2017 by Strix Publishing. The latter adds new illustrations by Mike Corley and a couple of new stories not collected in the previous edition.

The other three collections are all out from Word Horde, who has been my most reliable and frequent publishing partner. These include Painted Monsters, Guignol, and, most recently, How to See Ghosts. I’m proud of all of them, and all three boast phenomenal cover art by Nick Gucker, who has probably been responsible for selling more copies of any of them than my name ever has.

My other full-length books include two collections of short, informal essays on vintage horror films – Monsters from the Vault, reprinting a column that I used to write for Innsmouth Free Press on the subject, and Revenge of Monsters from the Vault, which continues the theme.

Rounding out the list is Godless, my only published novel to date, written for Privateer Press as work-for-hire, and intended as the first book in a proposed series that never came to pass for various reasons.

Recently, I got royalty statements for most of these books from the publishers, and I thought it might be a good time to talk somewhat transparently about royalties and the writing life and what it means when you buy one of my books. I believe in transparency, in general, and I’ve only gotten where I am thanks in part to the generosity of my fellow writers in this regard.

I am a full-time writer, which most people assume means that I make a living writing novels or even – absurd as the proposition actually is – short stories. This is far, far from the truth. There are writers who make a living writing novels, but I’m not one of them. (I don’t think there have been any writers who made a living writing short stories for… many years.) Instead, my income comes, primarily, from writing “content,” which means any number of things. I write marketing copy of all sorts, from the words on websites and corporate blogs to social media posts to “white papers” and press releases.

I also write for a number of what are sometimes derogatorily called “content mills,” websites that busy themselves with generating a never-ending stream of listicles, articles, and other odds-and-ends. Of these, I am probably most closely associated with Ranker and The Lineup. Ultimately, though, all of this is my “day job,” the work I do to bring in the money to write my goofy little short stories about monsters and ghosts.

Besides all that, I currently produce four regular columns: one on folk horror, one on old horror TV shows, one on board games, and one about… pretty much whatever I want to write about, ranging from muck monsters to Ultra Q and beyond. And I continue to regularly write for Privateer Press, including putting together a large swath of their new Iron Kingdoms: Requiem 5e-compatible RPG.

All of that (with the exception of the columns) is work-for-hire stuff, meaning that, once it is published, I no longer own it. I get paid my fee, and that’s the last recompense I will ever get for the work. Fiction and such is, however, a different beast. When I sell a short story, I am likely to sell it again, at least into a collection down the road. Then, when I publish said collection, I will get a small advance.

Short stories do not pay well, nor have they for many, many years. Short story collections do not pay any better. While advances on novels may vary considerably, one can still potentially expect a few thousand dollars, maybe even five figures, if one is publishing through a larger press. Publishing a short story collection through a larger press is mostly unheard of unless one is already a best-selling author. So, you’ll be going through smaller presses, and your advance is more likely to be in the neighborhood of a few hundred to a thousand dollars, at least in my experience.

The advance is an “advance against royalties,” which means that you have to “earn out” that advance before you start making any royalties. Royalties on a collection are a fraction of the total price of the book. This fraction varies depending on your contract and the form of the book, but let’s say around 5-10% for physical copies, around 25% for ebooks. So, to make the math easy, if you sell a physical book for $1, you’ll make a shiny nickel. If you sell an ebook for the same amount, you’ll get a quarter.

Once you’ve accrued enough nickels and quarters, you will eventually have gotten enough money to pay back your advance, at which time those nickels and quarters start coming to you as royalties. At this point, most of my books (that pay royalties) have earned out, with the exception of How to See Ghosts, which literally just got published at the tail end of last year.

And yet, part of the reason why short story collections don’t pay as well as other books is that they also don’t tend to sell as well. I have been very fortunate, but even then, the number of copies of all my collections that are in circulation – including ebooks – still numbers only a few thousand, less than the print run of the average single novel. This is not a cry for pity or any such thing, but a bid toward transparency. I knew the marketplace of the short story when I got into this business, and I make a nice living with my writing, despite that it isn’t in the form of story sales.

What’s more, as I promised at the beginning of this surprisingly lengthy essay, I want to talk about what happens when you buy one of my books, in any form: I get some money. One way or another, sooner or later. Maybe it’s those nickels and quarters, but they add up. Every three months or so, I get a check from my publishers for enough money that I can buy a couple of nice Blu-rays, or pay part of one of my utility bills. It’s appreciated, and it helps, and that only happens when you buy my books.

And if you’ve already bought my books (thank you), it helps further to blog about them, review them, ask your library to order them. Little books like mine only do well thanks to word of mouth. That’s just the nature of this business. Without people talking about them, posting about them, leaving reviews, and telling their friends, they sink out of existence and into oblivion.

Perhaps even more important, those books selling as well as they do – the numbers might be relatively modest compared to a novel, but they’re pretty nice for short story collections – helps ensure that I’ll have the opportunity for more down the road. I look forward to a nice, long career writing various other stuff on the side so I can keep publishing books filled with stories about ghosts and monsters. And if you look forward to reading more of them, then I hope you keep buying! And for all those who have bought my books so far – I literally couldn’t keep doing this without you!

How much do you know about the chupacabra? Did you know that it might actually just be the alien from the 1995 movie Species? It seems that Madelyne Tolentino, the first eye witness to describe the chupacabra, had recently seen the film and may have just been describing the alien that she saw on the screen.*

It’s not even the first time something like that has happened, either. In 1972, two teenage boys in Victoria, British Columbia claimed to have seen a monster come up out of nearby Thetis Lake. The story was reported in newspapers, though the two teens eventually admitted to making it up, basing their monster description on the creature from The Beach Girls and the Monster (1965), which had recently shown on TV.

As a freelance writer, I write a lot of stuff. From corporate marketing and social media updates to true crime reporting to movie reviews and beyond. In that capacity, I often get hired to write about oddities of various kinds, from UFO sightings to cryptids to creepypastas and so on. In so doing, I learn frequently weird stuff, some of it true and some of it not. Some of it pretending to be true when it isn’t, some of it pretending not to be true when it is.

Some of what I stumble across makes it into whatever work I’m doing that day. Some of it is quickly forgotten. Some gets stored in the back of my brain and trotted out for something later, or repurposed into something like this blog post. Frankly, the world is filled with fascinating factoids and perhaps even more filled still with things that we believe even though they aren’t true.

Then again, many things are mixture of true and false. Take Project Sanguine, for instance. A real (and obviously extremely practical) government project originating during the Cold War, Project Sanguine would have turned literally 40% of Wisconsin into a giant radio antenna by embedding cables into the bedrock. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was never carried out. But I learned about Project Sanguine while researching Doveland, Wisconsin, an urban legend or creepypasta about a town that supposedly disappeared – and whose disappearance some people blamed on Project Sanguine.

Of course, for every Project Sanguine that turns out to be legit, there’s something that has been accepted as legit even though it’s just emphatically made-up. Take, for example, the story of the Brazilian village of Hoer Verde, which allegedly disappeared back in the 1920s. The story caught on enough to make its way into the 2019 video game Control – but its origin was almost certainly the 1983 Dean Koontz novel Phantoms.

(The Russian newspaper article that originally spread the Hoer Verde story also, and I am getting this secondhand via translation, so grain of salt, blames the Roanoke disappearance on “protoplasm coming from deep in the ocean and eating people,” which it does every thousand years. So maybe we should have been skeptical from the start, is all I’m saying.)

None of this is intended to make fun of the credulity of anyone, though. While we should all be careful about believing what we read on the internet, this is far from a phenomenon that is unique to our modern age. Take H. L. Mencken’s notorious fake history of the bathtub from 1917, which was circulated as true for decades.

Rather, I’m just posting this here because my work occasionally fills my head with lots of weird information, and I don’t always have the luxury of sharing it. (Such as the phenomenon of invisible fire and the low-tech solution NASA worked out to deal with it, or Taku-He, a South Dakota cryptid who is basically Bigfoot but wearing a fancy coat and top hat.) Today, things like Project Sanguine and that information about the chupacabra were buzzing around in my brain, and I thought my readers might also enjoy them. That’s all.

* Of course, reports of similar phenomena go back as far as 1975, where they were simply attributed to Satanic cults or to “the vampire of Moca,” named for the place they were first reported. But both the name and the general description of the chupacabra as we know it today date from 1995, the latter from Tolentino’s eye witness testimony, the former coined by comedian and radio DJ Silverio Perez.

What a quiet and uneventful year 2023 has been so far in the tabletop gaming space, huh folks?

I’m honestly not sure I’m equipped to even provide background here. Back near the beginning of January, a leaked document from Wizards of the Coast, owners (under Hasbro) of Dungeons & Dragons, revealed draconic (pun intended) planned changes to the Open Gaming License, or OGL, which the company first rolled out back in 2000 when the “world’s most popular roleplaying game” was still only on its 3rd edition.

In a nutshell, the OGL was a license for third-party companies to make and distribute stuff using certain select parts of D&D’s product line. It’s something of a weird area, because game mechanics are already not copyrightable, so the ability (or not) for people to do that even without the license is somewhat nebulous and always has been.

There has already been considerable writing, both before and after the leaked OGL draft, about whether or not the OGL was ever actually good for anything besides helping D&D to achieve and maintain market dominance, and I am neither a lawyer nor an industry insider, so there are certainly better voices than mine that you should be listening to in the midst of all this.

What’s relevant here is that this bombshell leak showed the hand of Wizards of the Coast in a way that seemingly destroyed a decade’s goodwill in one fell swoop. The fallout was immediate and considerable. So many people canceled their D&D Beyond subscriptions that it forced the company to do some damage control by attempting to backpedal the most egregious aspects of the proposed new OGL, which they did in a pair of statements released after a damning week of silence.

The damage had already been done, however. In the time between the initial leak and WotC’s statements, easily half-a-dozen of their largest competitors had already announced plans for OGLs of their own, and seemingly everyone in the tabletop hobby space had drawn battle lines in response to the proposed changes.

Those who have been following along for some time know that I’ve been working on and off in the tabletop field for some years now, primarily for Privateer Press. In that time, I’ve worked on several 5e-adjacent books for the new Iron Kingdoms: Requiem setting and system, all of which have made use of the OGL. In fact, I’m in the midst of a new project in that vein as I write this, which is partly why I’m just now getting to it. As such, it seems that I’m obliged to have at least some opinion on this.

I like 5e. It’s been easy to work with, and while it has its drawbacks, it’s fun to play. And I’m still extremely proud of the work that I and others have done on the three sets (and counting) of books for Iron Kingdoms: Requiem. I hope IK:R keeps going for a long, long time, in whatever ultimate form.

But I also recognize what WotC doesn’t seem to, which is that the OGL was, in actual fact, a boon to them more than anyone. Sure, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons may have achieved a similar market saturation back in the ’80s, without the aid of an OGL. (I’m not sure we’ve quite hit “D&D big wheel” levels in 5e just yet, honestly.) But it’s also true that both 3e and 5e would probably not have enjoyed their respective popularities had it not been for the OGL, and D&D’s current dominance of the field is likely as much a result of that as Hasbro’s considerable marketing budget.

Again, I am not a lawyer nor principally a game designer, but as near as I can tell, the biggest benefit that the OGL brought to the community was community itself – a way for lots of folks operating in disparate circles to speak the same language. It made things welcoming that might have previously been opaque, while also opening up the scene for countless newcomers.

I don’t know what the way forward is, really. The damage that WotC has done to their product and their brand is considerable – and maybe insurmountable. If that’s so, I hope that the folks who next pick up the reins are better stewards. What I will say is this: Over the last few years, I’ve gotten back into tabletop gaming in ways that I haven’t been in close to two decades, and in that time, some of my best experiences have come from games that were built only to do what they do, not to be the sort of one-size-fits-all solution that the OGL has often prompted.

Take, for example, the short campaign I played in the Alien RPG from Free League. Though built on their Year Zero engine, the game incorporated plenty of things that would really only work in a survival horror type setting – but in that setting, they worked like gangbusters.

What I’m saying is, whatever happens with D&D, it’s always been good that it isn’t the only game out there, and hopefully, if nothing else, this will remind us all to look to other pastures now and again.